


Watching

by RapierTwit



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, M/M, Mt. Pelion Era, No Dialogue, POV Achilles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RapierTwit/pseuds/RapierTwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He’s watching him again." </p><p>Achilles' thoughts about Patroclus while they're on Mt. Pelion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching

He’s watching him again. Not that he ever stops, not really, because Patroclus is lovely and human and fragile, and he needs protection. So he’s always watching, out of the corner of his eye, but this is the kind of watching he’s not supposed to do. This is the kind of watching that feels like trouble.

The thing is, Achilles thinks as he watches Patroclus swimming lazily in the river, is that Patroclus is without a doubt the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. Achilles has known goddesses and heroes and now a centaur, and still, nothing ever compares to this surprising boy he met when he was eleven.

Well, not such a boy now. Achilles blushes, and looks away for just a second to suppress the smile trying to turn his lips up at the corners. He has to be careful, because Patroclus has this almost preternatural sense for when Achilles is truly happy, and then he makes it his personal mission to keep him that way for as long as possible, and honestly his complete focus on making Achilles smile is just breathtakingly endearing, and that makes Achilles even happier, and…well, it’s a vicious cycle.

When he looks back, Patroclus has pulled himself up out of the water to lie on the bank and soak up the last rays of sunlight. In the twilight he almost shines, the light hitting the beads of water on his chest just right to make him seem golden, and Achilles idly wonders if he would taste like ambrosia were he to take his tongue and trace those droplets up his body, up his neck, to that soft spot right behind his ear…

Achilles clears his throat and shakes his head a bit as he jumps into the water himself, hoping the cool river will help him clear his head. As he dunks down beneath the surface, he’s reminded of his mother’s urging to join her at the bottom of the sea. It would be tempting, Achilles is sure, if he’d never met Patroclus. But he has, and now imagining leaving him for the dark depths of the ocean is impossible.

When he surfaces, Patroclus is watching with a curiosity lighting his eyes. He seems dangerous like this, as seductive as a wood nymph or as charming as a siren. It shakes Achilles to his bones, and he wonders if he should be afraid of the power Patroclus holds over him. No, he decides. For who else would he trust with everything?

As the last bit of the sun dips below the horizon, Patroclus rises from the riverbank, and seeing that Achilles has yet to finish bathing, he makes his way back towards Chiron and the cave. On his way, he stumbles, and catches himself on a tree trunk. With a sheepish grin tossed over his back at Achilles, he continues on his way till he disappears from view. 

Achilles watches all of this with a fluttering in his chest, a feeling that he thought would go away over time, but has been his constant companion as long as Patroclus has been the same. Thetis hates Patroclus for his clumsiness, he knows. Hates him for his mortality, for his fragility, for the simple fact that he was born completely human. It makes him inferior in her eyes. Maybe if Achilles could explain it to her, that there is such a beauty in the uncertainty of Patroclus’ actions. Since birth, Achilles’ victory has been assured in every competition he ever entered, his mastery of every skill an inevitability. There was no excitement, no joy in conquering these tasks. 

But trying to make the sad boy in the dining hall smile…tackling him to the bed until the heat and friction and unbearable giddiness of it all became too much and he had to climb off…waiting for him in the forest without being sure that he’d follow, but hoping he would…. Those were the moments that made Achilles’ stomach swoop as if he were in free fall. Those seconds filled with uncertainty, when Patroclus’ reaction was unknown and unpredictable, those were the moments where Achilles’ heart sped up and he began to feel dizzy, and it was unlike any feeling he’d ever experienced. It was thrilling.

For what was a reward without risk, Achilles questioned as pulled himself out of the river and began to make the journey back in the darkness. How much sweeter was Patroclus’ smile when he could have easily frowned? 

Eventually he arrives at the campfire, and finds Patroclus and Chiron there, the flames throwing distorted shadows onto their faces. He holds back a bit, although he can see that Chiron has already noticed his presence, and he watches them talking, just far enough away that he can’t make out the conversation. He knows he should join them, it’s still too early to go to bed, but he’s impatient to get to the part of the night where he and Patroclus lay side by side and tell stories about the kings and gods of old. It’s the part of the day where he feels most at peace, so as he comes closer he greets Chiron and motions for Patroclus to follow him into the cave. 

He feels Patroclus lie down next to him, and tonight even the sliver of distance between them is too much, so he pulls on his arm until their sides fit together and he wishes, not for the first time, that his shoulders were a little less broad so their heads could knock together too. 

Tell me about Apollo, he whispers, and his breath makes the hair at Patroclus’ temple shake, they’re so close. As Patroclus smiles and looks to the ceiling to trace the story in the stars, Achilles remains where he is, never turning his head. The stories of the Olympians are all well and good, but they cannot compare to Patroclus as he tells them.

With Patroclus distracted, it gives Achilles the chance to study his profile. He’s memorized it a hundred times, but it’s never enough. Eventually he comes to the part of Patroclus’ hair that never lies flat, like he usually does. He wonders, sometimes, if he were to press his fingers into it just so if he could tame it. He hopes not.

Patroclus soon realizes that Achilles isn’t paying attention to the story, and when he turns to him Achilles’ eyes are drawing closed and his breath is evening out. Patroclus drops the hand that has been tracing the constellations, and lightly says goodnight, as if he’s afraid his words will sink in the air and disturb Achilles’ rest.

As Patroclus turns onto his side and closes his eyes, Achilles forces his own open for one last glance. When his mother visits tomorrow, he’ll ask if she watches them here, but there’s a part of him that knows she’ll say no.

After all, Achilles is the one who is always watching.


End file.
